


III. The Fire Sermon | Peter

by fire_and_a_rose



Series: The Wastelands [3]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Battling the Giants in the North, Peter the High King, The Golden Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_and_a_rose/pseuds/fire_and_a_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a series of stories tied together by the use of T. S. Eliot's The Wastelands, one story for each Pevensie, the third deals with Peter as he leads his troops in battles against the giants in the North of Narnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	III. The Fire Sermon | Peter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penmage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penmage/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make no money. I write out of love only, and I hope I don't make Lewis roll over too many times in his of the series and individual stories are taken from T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. And yes. I added an "s" and made it one word.

 

_By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept..._

_Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,_

_T. S. Eliot_

They're fighting the giants.  
  
King Peter knows that there is trouble--that his sister has ignored his wishes, has gone to Calormene, and he has no control over her actions, but he knows that trouble exists, for nothing else can come of this.  
  
He knows, but they're fighting the giants, and he's lost twenty fighters today, two centaurs, a Bear, seven Dwarves...the list goes on, and he's too tired to think it, but he must. Not just races, he must remember the _names_ , because if he doesn't, who will?  
  
(And years from now, he will demand of his youngest sister that she remind him, in another world, and she will, voice soft, reciting the names of the dead, because he can't remember any longer.)  
  
"My king," Arliea, a she-centaur, her voice as tired as he feels, speaks to him from the entrance to his tent. "The troops..."  
  
"I know." Shortly, and then, in a kinder tone, "Our presence will join thee with them shortly."  
  
It's black all about them and above, except for the fire and the Leopard in the sky, as the High King walks to his people.  
  
He doesn't know what he says. Later, he won't remember, not even the moment right when it's finished.  
  
He speaks of Right, of the Lion, of His Name, of survival, and when the cry goes up, he doesn't hear the words, thinking of the glory of battle and the magnificence of the bodies and the wonder of the blood and the joy of the friends gone.  
  
He wonders why their voices sound so happy.


End file.
